


Sight

by imaginethomashardy (AndABottleOfRum)



Series: Blind [2]
Category: Batman: The Dark Knight Returns (2012-2013), The Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 23:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndABottleOfRum/pseuds/imaginethomashardy
Summary: The captive becomes The Reckoning's benefactor...of sorts.





	Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/24/17 on imaginethomashardy.tumblr

As she walked through the snow-covered streets, she couldn’t stop thinking that despite the chill in London, the winter Gotham met its supposed savior would forever be the coldest. Sometimes the echoes of those memories take shape in her dreams. That’d been happening more often recently. Her mother had taught her about the meanings of dreams. She wished she hadn’t.

She made it home without incident. Every night, the locks on all doors and windows were checked and deadbolts firmly in place. The local locksmith had given her an odd look. Not that she cared. She walked aimlessly around the house. She called it home but nowhere was home, not even Gotham. Things were easier that way.

She mulled over the conversation she’d had with Dr. Vargas about his current patient. Luckily, Dr. Vargas, in his 35-years of experience, has dealt with any and everything under the sun, moon, and stars. She thought the doctor would’ve turned her away the moment she handed over his potential patient’s file. It could’ve been the fact that Marie was a familiar and honest face. His patient’s conditions were not without great difficulties however. But she knew this.

At 21, she was a Gothamite that witnessed an already weakened city fall who became a “mouse” to Gotham’s Reckoning. The mouse would in turn facilitate the Reckoning’s escape, and provide capable medical personnel to ensure its’ recovery. At 24, she receives weekly medical updates for a man she should hate; you can’t necessarily hate someone for being the catalyst for an epiphany, can you?

Nothing made sense for a while back then. She grew tired of it all just a few weeks shy of the city’s first anniversary. Because what had they done exactly? To them, everything was over, just a passing thought. But to her, the voices and the echoes of gunshots were still too loud in her head. She had extremely vivid nightmares where she would wake and think she was still dreaming. Other nights, there were just dreams of him. Who the hell dreams of their captors? People with Stockholm Syndrome do that, not perfectly sane individuals. It was exactly the reason she moved to London, to distance herself.

How do you distance yourself when you’re still actively involved?

She sighed, “Fucking impossible.”

She stared at the ceiling while she lay in bed. Sleep was not in her cards for that night it seemed. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence as of late and quickly becoming a thorn in her side.

Her eyes opened, brain trying to wake up to help its’ host with the current dilemma. She laid still for a few minutes before she heard faint rustling coming from somewhere in the house. She slid out of bed as quietly as she could, though she was sure she knew who it was. Not like it would be the first time.

The only light she left on was the one above the stove in her kitchen, in which she saw a man. The red scarf around his neck was oh-so familiar, as was the rifle hanging from his shoulder. Her panic turned to anger and then to exasperation.

“It wouldn’t kill you to knock or ring the door bell. I have both but you already know that,” she reprimanded.

She had walked into the kitchen when he turned to regard her coolly. Neither spoke as she sat atop a stool by the counter.

“Why do you hide, little mouse?” Barsad inquired.

“Perhaps it is just my nature,” she began, “but you’re here to put an end to that.”

A slight wave of shock shook his features for a millisecond.

They wouldn’t have found her if she didn’t want to be found.

The trip was colder than London and in a cargo plane; nothing surprised Marie anymore. There were freezing nights ahead of her it seemed.

That’s what you get.

The concrete compound didn’t look welcoming; the people taking residence in it couldn’t care less about the looks of anyone, let alone anything. It was warm enough she supposed. Barsad hadn’t been so talkative, however, he wasn’t as abrasive as he’d been at first. She saw a few faces she remembered but she her best to avoid staring too long. He led the way to his brother’s room. The closer they got, the more she regretted her earlier bravado. She wasn’t raised to be a punk in the Narrows unfortunately.

The doors opened to reveal a rather unimpressive room but again she wasn’t surprised. These were not material people, she reminded herself. A large adult hospital bed located at the back of the room, its’ owner sat on the edge while Dr. Vargas took inventory of his patient.

“I thought I told you-,” the doctor looked up from his clipboard, “Ah, it’s you.”

Yes, it’s me.

She wanted to be there and yet anywhere but there. The way his stare made her feel hadn’t changed, still unnerving. The scars that littered his body and the ones that marred an otherwise attractive countenance were a sight. They just made her wish she’d been the one to kill her. Even if the damage has already been done.

“Niños,” the doctor scoffed, “Just going to stare or are you actually going to speak to each other?”

“Hello, little mouse,” Bane said.

“Obviamente no te conoce,” Dr. Vargas commented quietly.

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. Would anyone ever really know her?

“For being the daughter of what most would consider a serial killer, you were not what I expected you to be. “Mouse” seemed to be a fitting moniker,” he supplied.

“Yes, the illegitimate, bastard child of Victor Zsasz and one rather unfortunate sex worker who walked the seedy streets of Gotham,” she practically sneered, “Do forgive me for not being an esteemed killer by the time the League of Shadows arrived in Gotham,” she mocked.

“Are you angry?” Barsad asked, nonchalantly.

She rubbed her temples, “Mildly irritated.”

“Don’t go making yourself sick,” the doctor paused to make eye-contact with Marie, “…again.”

“Your concerns are duly-noted and appreciated, Dr. Vargas,” she responded tiredly.

One last look was shared between her and Bane.

She woke from a dead sleep, hyper aware of her surroundings. There was someone else in the room.

“What is it with you people always interrupting my sleep schedule?” she questioned the shadow.

“I do not recall you being so…difficult,” he mused.

“I was a mouse then,” she sat up, “but not anymore.”

She stared at the rather imposing figure he made in the dark. What was she doing here exactly? What did she gain from helping them? Nothing, nothing at all.

Bane stepped into the light. His eyes shone like dark diamonds in the moonlight. She almost regretted telling the doctor to wean him off the mask.

“What is the meaning for all of this?” he asked, “Why are you here?”

“Would you prefer to never see me again?” she countered.

“No,” he quietly replied.

She thought if she saw him again, it would all make sense but it just confused her more. The man standing in front of her hadn’t changed at all.

Speak plainly or not at all.

Bane didn’t do coy nor was he afraid of confronting anything but it scared Marie to actually be honest with herself, especially with this. Lying was easier in her experience.

He stepped around the foot of the bed and stood just within her arm’s reach.

“Why are you here?” he repeated.

“You know exactly why,” she answered evasively.

Neither of them were deaf, dumb, or blind, however, neither of them knew nothing of the matters of the heart. Logic could be applied to everything except emotions and feelings. None of this was logical.

Not the hand in her hair, not their foreheads touching, and certainly not his scarred lips pressed softly against her unmarred but equally uncertain lips.

But this would be a matter for another day. There were, underneath it all, very much human. Sometimes, it just takes one person to make you see.


End file.
